


and then there were none

by drashian



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Self-Harm, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Trichotillomania
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:48:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drashian/pseuds/drashian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wouldn't be that simple.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. been there before.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally writing something for this fandom! Oh boy.
> 
> (and oh god, I'm using Spring Awakening lyrics and I feel like such a tool, combining my two most recent and dearest fandoms but FUCK IT. Titles are from [this song](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LDyJq78-U38).)

First he tried to swallow a bullet in San Luis Potosí. He had intended to let his body dry out in the desert, not let his blood touch too many living things and keep gamma radiation out of the water supplies. Minimize damage. One moment there was a barrel in his mouth, cold metal, then the horrible stretched time from the squeezing of the trigger to the flood of green in his mind and he was pushed out of the control seat of his own body. In the moment of travel from barrel to brain his entire body shifted and all of his tissues hardened and he tasted the bullet as it slid down his tongue and out of his mouth and then nothing but flashes, some moments of vision but his body out of his control. Perhaps it was for the better. He woke up somewhere in Guerrero and he knew it wouldn't be that simple.

Then there was a time of hoarding pills, locking them in a suitcase as he travelled across Canada. When the whole case was full—he had sold every belonging in order to buy the drugs in the first place—he went out into the tundra of Nunavut with the suitcase in one hand and a pack of bottled water in the other. Barely any clothes, either. The cold couldn't hurt. Methodically, he emptied every bottle, swallowed, hugged the water to his chest to keep it from freezing. The wind, the dry cold, the darkening sky played tricks on his dimming mind and for a while he really thought it would work. He was almost through his entire stash when he realized that his frostbitten hands were turning greener than they rightly should. His eyes drifted closed and he hoped it was a trick of the light. He woke up close this time, the sun white in the sky, minimal damage to the surrounding forest. Perhaps the Other Guy was trying too hard to keep warm.

The train in Calcutta didn't do much to him. It only wrecked the train when suddenly, it was a much larger obstacle on the track than it had been a moment before. The guilt of the two lives lost in the train crash didn't improve anything.

He tried a few times during his stint in Southeast Asia. Drowning was no good; he would just wake up with a wet cough and broken fishing boats on his conscience. Hanging neither. He hadn't found a rope strong enough yet. His wrists still faintly scarred even when it was viridian flesh that healed the cuts. Sometimes he wondered about the factory equipment but then he remembered what had happened in the Favelas and knew that machinery wasn't strong enough.

Bruce learned, too, that a sharp blade against his flesh made him lose control. He found himself carrying a lighter and quite a few premature bald patches. If he told himself that it was under control over and over again, usually the Other Guy believed him.

Really, nothing was under control. He worked himself to exhaustion serving others for only a place to stay and just enough food to stay alive until the next plan was perfected. But he was running out of options. Launching himself into space might work. Maybe exposure to more gamma rays would kill him. Or it would make it worse. Both of those were completely impossible, of course. Anything that could kill him was impossible.

He resigned himself to living for a while, helping as many people as he could along the way. Working odd jobs, playing off of what expertise he had and what he could offer the disadvantaged. Not that he gave up on dying.

His hair grew back slowly as he got less and less time to mope around, working with the sick in India. He didn't really want to talk about what came after. He didn't die falling from the Helicarrier nor fighting the Chitauri. If he survived space invaders, it was really quite hopeless. He would always wake up alive, sour, metallic taste on his tongue. It wasn't even an active effort any more, just a quiet resignation to continual breathing. He almost enjoyed it sometimes. So many allies determined to align themselves on his good side, unperturbed for the most part by his control issues. The Other Guy cooperated with them, surprisingly, and Bruce almost felt like he could live like this.

He still toed the edge of the Stark Tower rooftop at midnight, staring down at the destruction. But no use in jumping.


	2. by now you know the score

He spent the night in Stark Tower and by the morning was already browsing flight schedules on the kitchen table. Pepper came in, just disheveled enough to look well-rested but also completely at ease in her pajamas in front of Bruce. He smiled at her as she sat down across from him, cup of coffee between her palms.

"Did you sleep well, Bruce?" she asked and he couldn't quite tell if she was just being polite or if she actually cared.

"Yes, thank you, Miss—I mean, Pepper." He nodded at the newspaper she had carried in. "What are they saying?"

"Nothing too bad. They couldn't exactly say it was a training exercise, but neither could they go for the truth. It's a garbled mess of military technology and secret organizations. The press release is in a couple of hours."

Bruce nodded and went back to his flight schedule.

"What are you looking at, Bruce?" she asked but he could tell she already knew. She pulled the papers a bit closer to her with a manicured hand for good measure. "You're not thinking of leaving us."

"Just scoping my options."

"Well, you can do as you please as far as I'm concerned. Any of our estates are open for you at any time, but I'm not one to force you to stay." Her mouth quirked as they both heard heavy footsteps approach the kitchen. "Tony, on the other hand..."

"Good morning!" Tony said as he entered, looking not all that cheerful but still sounding like it just to get on everyone's nerves. Bruce and Pepper exchanged knowing looks and Tony narrowed his eyes at them. "Keeping secrets already?"

"That's my job, Tony," Pepper said, leaning back in her chair.

Tony grumbled and poured himself a mug of coffee, sitting at the table between the two occupants. He grabbed the papers from in front of Bruce. "Leaving already?" he asked, eyebrows high.

"Well, nothing's for certain yet, but—"

"You absolutely have to stay at least a few days. I've barely even shown you the labs." Tony's face was hard, but there was a glimmer of a smile in his eyes.

Bruce sighed. "Alright, a few days."

Tony grinned. "It'll be fun."

And he really did keep his promise. He stuck around for three more days, checking out equipment, contributing to experiments, going on tangents that only Tony understood. They spent most of the time in the lab together but when they were done, Pepper was there to greet them with a smile and a laundry list of things to do (mostly for Tony). It was nice. Comfortable.

"Hey, Bruce, get over here," Tony called, pulling him away from the touchscreen. He had been working on the aerodynamics of installing a new missile launcher on the Iron Man suit but apparently whatever Tony was working on was more important.

"What is it?" he said, pulling off his glasses to look at the mess in front of Tony. He wasn't used to such a disorganized way of going about things. Then again, he had worked in a lot more professional settings than the Stark prodigy, the man who, even with access to the highest level of technology, still kept his workshop looking like an overpriced, pimped out garage. Whatever it was Tony had done, it was unrecognizable among the scraps and failed attempts scattered across the workspace.

"Look! See, it's a Hulk-proof communicator!" And it was. Bruce picked it up delicately, turning it over in his hands. When he squeezed the sides, it compressed down to be small enough to fit in his ear like the ones the rest of the team wore, but when he released it, it expanded to be much larger. Practically the size of his ear when he transformed.

"How did you get a measurement of the Other Guy's ear, anyway?" he laughed, putting the device in his ear. A slender wire extended just out of the device and held the microphone against his cheek.

"Took some images from security cameras and calculated them from known measurements. Of course, it needs a trial run to make sure it will actually stay in..." Tony smiled and reached for his tool set.

Bruce laughed and rolled his eyes. "I think you'll have to wait on that one. I'm not planning to get angry any time soon."

"Not even if I pinch you with these?" Tony clicked a pair of pliers together.

"I can't even take you seriously with that look on your face."

"Fair enough. Another day, then. I'm pretty confident it will work. And then we'll be able to keep in touch in battle, you know, like a real team!"

Bruce didn't say so, but he had no real plans to fight with them as a team. Too risky. He had already ruined more of Manhattan than would have been destroyed by the Chitauri. The last thing he wanted was for the next item on the list to be Stark Tower.

He was getting attached to them, he knew, and that was dangerous because getting attached meant he would be doubly upset when things inevitably went wrong. Tony could handle himself—and the Hulk seemed to like him for some reason—but the thought of Pepper's face, helpless, her eyes filled with fear... He had to leave.

That night he booked the flight.

Tony sulked around when he heard the news but he still paid for the plane ticket. Pepper was disappointed (and Bruce had learned that all of her emotions, at least towards him, were genuine) and snuck lots of things into his bag, like a few new changes of clothes, a portable CD player with a few unmarked CDs, and a very cheap looking prepaid phone with all of the Potts and Stark numbers programmed into it. At least she knew his taste.

Tony looked down at his feet when he wished them goodbye and mumbled something about losing his best lab partner in years. Bruce wished he hadn't seen the hurt in him because it made leaving even harder. Pepper hugged him tightly and smiled, even though she was just barely tearing up. Neither one of them accompanied him to the airport, but he didn't blame them. Even Happy seemed disappointed to see him go as he pulled his bag out of the back seat and waved goodbye.

"Good luck, Mr. Banner," he said, giving a short wave.

"Thanks, Happy. I'll need it." He entered the airport feeling heavy but hoping to lighten his load in Guatemala.


	3. you wanted more

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wonder what those changes to the relationship tags mean! Gosh.
> 
> Some shifting away from Bruce briefly. Sorry it's so short. I'll attempt a longer update next time.

The reconstruction of Stark Tower—and its transformation into Avengers Tower—went slowly. Sure, it became livable soon enough, no glass shards embedded in the carpet and drafts eliminated, but to restore it to its former sleek, modern glory? That was a much longer process. Not to mention the effort that went into making it inhabitable by all members of the Avengers.

Tony, of course, did this all without consulting any of the others, but he knew it would be okay. Thor visited Midgard on occasion, though it required a lot of effort on the part of his father to send him so he came mostly in times of crisis. They would have to look into speeding that process up. But a room was always ready for him at the Tower.

It was easy to convince Clint to get out of wherever S.H.I.E.L.D. had him holed up ("An excuse to get away from Fury is always welcome in my world.") and Natasha, grumbling, followed suit. It was not high on her priorities to feel constantly indebted to Stark, but, as accommodations went, it was comfortable enough. More than comfortable.

Convincing Steve to move in was a bit slower, since he had been so set against that much modernity at one time. It was hard enough adjusting to the general level of technology, let alone Stark Industries' cutting edge. But he came eventually, and, meekly, he showed up at the breakfast table every morning.

It became tradition—meals as a unit, "team bonding" exercises every week. Usually those amounted to sparring matches or movie marathons, though video game tournaments were not unheard of. Once Steve got used to the controller, he could play a mean Street Fighter and the proud grin on his face was something that everyone wanted to print out on glossy paper and hang above their beds. But that just made them think about someone who would not join them in hangout time, so they never voiced any desire for any additional Captain America (or Steve Rogers, as it were) merchandise.

Tony was slow to wake in the morning, whether or not Pepper occupied the space next to him, though her being present certainly made it more pleasant. Even without her, invariably, everyone else was already up, awaiting his company.

"Good morning!" Steve greeted him, dressed modestly in a t-shirt and American-flag-coloured sweats. Tony always rolled his eyes inwardly at the sight of them but no one dared bring them up to Steve's face.

"Yeah, morning," he mumbled, pouring himself coffee. "What's up for today?"

Clint leaned back in his high-backed chair, wearing boxers and nothing else. "The usual. Tonight's team bonding. Your turn to pick the activity."

Tony sat down, cralding his mug, and thought for a minute, staring down into its depths. "I want us to get trashed. Go dancing."

Clint smiled. "That's what I'm talking about!"

Natasha rolled her eyes but smiled, looking slightly pleased. She always looked slightly pleased. Like the world was just one big eternal joke only for her.

Steve looked down like there was a story behind this whole situation, but kept his mouth shut about it. "I don't know how to dance," he said quietly.

"I don't blame you. But," and Natasha smiled with self-satisfaction at this, "I'm something of an expert in dancing techniques so we could jive a bit if you'd like. Not to mention I could teach you something a bit more, ah, modern."

Steve tightened his lips. "Sorry, I mean I don't know how to dance period. I guess I'll come," he said, sounding distant. "I should get out more." He looked up, met Tony's eyes for a moment, then stood.

Tony clenched his jaw. "I didn't mean—"

"No, it's fine. I'll... I'll see you." He walked measuredly out of the room, back ramrod straight.

The others all looked at each other with sadness and confusion.

"I just wanted to suggest something fun," Tony said quietly. Genuinely upsetting Steve was one of the few things he felt real shame about. Sure, some joking went on, and he didn’t really like the guy when they first met, but it hadn't been personal. It had been about Captain America then. But Steve was still a kid from Brooklyn who happened to have super-enhanced strength.

"I know. I think he'll be okay." Natasha stood, putting her dishes in the sink and leading Clint away quietly.

Tony leaned back, sighing. Typical.

How long until it was only him in the Tower again, alone? He had already driven away one supposed member of their team. Bruce said it was in no way Tony's fault, that it was an autonomous decision, but he was no fool. Next it would be Steve. Clint and Natasha were already held there precariously, always on the verge of friendship but keeping a professional distance. They were S.H.I.E.L.D. anyway. There was no keeping them once Fury called.

Tony slid his coffee mug aside and lay his face down on the cool marble.

"Sir?" JARVIS said.

"Go away; I'm wallowing."


	4. you're gonna crash and burn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably a good time to remind you of those content warning tags up above this before you start reading.
> 
> (also maybe a time to shamelessly promote the fact that I just began posting a separate multichapter Avengers fic that everyone should read?)

They did go out to dance and it was actually kind of fun.

They rode together in one of Tony's limos, joking casually interspersed with awkward silences. Natasha and Clint looked dashing as usual, Tony was the same as ever, and Steve... well, he'd tried. But his tucked in shirt and ducking-head-demeanor would probably do him no favours with the ladies.

They knew Tony there (of course they did; everyone knew Tony) and that guaranteed them some measure of privacy. Steve watched the other patrons dance with distressed eyes. "Is that really... appropriate?" he whispered to Natasha who only laughed and reminded him that times had changed. He wasn't so convinced.

"Come on, Cap, don't you want to dance?" she asked once he had put down his half-empty drink. He looked down, he searched for an excuse out of it, but he eventually acquiesced and she took him by the hand and stood him up a measure away from their private table (but still removed from the rest of the people) and tried to explain how to dance to him.

Tony leaned over to Clint across the table. "Look at him go," he said, grinning, and they watched as Captain America jauntily tried to move to the beat, laughing as Natasha tried to make him come closer to her and he pulled back, blushing.

"He really is full of the American spirit," Clint quipped. They both downed a shot each, their eyes meeting. Tony liked Clint. He was straightforward and he didn't lie to you (at least, if he liked you) and he didn't run away. Plus he had a good sense of humour.

Then it just got kind of sad and Clint had to intervene and _damn_ he was a good dancer, Tony had to admit. And if he and Natasha moved as one on the battlefield, on the dance floor it was no different. Steve came back to sit next to Tony.

"I'm afraid I don't really have the hang of it yet," Steve said, looking down into his drink.

"You're telling me."

"Why aren't you dancing, Tony?" Steve said.

"Clint's taken the only other gorgeous lady in the area and it's not on the top of my priorities to break another girl's heart tonight." Tony shrugged. Sure, it had been his idea, but he felt like he was having the least fun.

"Oh come on," Steve said, pulling Tony up and then they were both dancing together and in a moment it was all four of them and wow, it was actually really fun. Between Steve's haphazard attempts at getting into the rhythm and Clint and Natasha's impossibly smooth moves, Tony felt a bit at home. Like he was just hanging out with some good friends at a bar, getting wasted and having a good time. Which, yeah, he kind of was. And it was a new idea that was blooming somewhere between group outings and movie nights, thinking of his teammates as also his friends, but that was fine by him. They were good company.

Clint, apparently, thought it was just about the funniest thing on Earth to bump asses with Tony on a regular basis and okay, yeah, it was somewhat funny the first time but _really_? Nat just laughed behind her hand and Steve's eyes lit up as they devolved into a childish bumping back and forth war, knocking hips and behinds and trying to push the other down.

"Come on, boys, how old are we?" Natasha said, pulling Clint back who was laughing so hard he wiped his eyes.

"Five," both Tony and Barton replied at the same time. They high-fived over Natasha who clenched her jaw and pulled Clint bodily away from the dance floor. They sat back down, presumably to have a good, long talk about appropriate behaviour.

Tony very nearly didn't hear his phone ring.

"We have a situation, Stark," said the voice on the other end of the restricted line.

"I'm a little busy, Fury. Why can't this wait?"

"It can't." And before Tony could ask what was happening, Fury moved on. "Get out here, now. We're waiting to pick you all up."

It only took a moment to collect the others and they were out the door in half a minute, not talking. Fury had sounded incredibly serious, more so than Tony had ever heard him be.

Riding in a S.H.I.E.L.D. car. Getting on a private jet. Taking off. It all went by very quickly and indistinctly. All Tony wanted to know was what was wrong. The sick feeling that he got thinking about what it could be had better be wrong.

Fury pulled Tony aside and, quietly, said, "It's Banner," and Tony's entire world fell apart for the next few moments. He knew what had happened. Fury met his eyes and nodded and for once in his life, Tony Stark could not bear being right.

The others looked at him with curiosity and worry. Natasha leaned forward, mouthed, "Bruce?" and Tony nodded once, breaking eye contact to stare out over the clouds. She sat back in her chair and seemed to fold in on herself. First she leaned in, spoke a few words to Clint, whose face took on the manner of a stone watchdog. Then she leaned over to Steve, talked to him for a bit longer. His face went from open to confused to sad to angry to worried to vigilant. She leaned back in her chair and Clint put an arm around her as she curled up into his side. It was amazing how vulnerable she could look sometimes.

They were in the air for what felt like seven hours but was more like three. Too long. Every moment was another pound of worry in Tony's belly.

It was hot in Guatemala City. They were ushered quickly out of the sun and to some official-looking buildings, the architecture half embassy and half research facility. Maybe that's what they really were.

They paused outside the door and looked at each other. Each of them hardened their gazes and silently they all acknowledged that this was probably their big moment as a team. Oh boy.

It was messy.

Something like the cage from the Helicarrier except not as sophisticated, without the threat of being dropped, and the contents much different than before. Even different than its intended prisoner. The usual bright green, pulsing, alive thing was replaced with a mass of ashen flesh. Oh God, it had been so bad. Tony swore in a very private part of his mind not to let Bruce out of his sight again. Not if there was going to be a next time.

He stared for half a minute, his breath shallow, but then his scientist mind took over and he cleared his head of emotional attachments (but part of him still screamed Bruce! Bruce!) and assessed the situation.

"It was found—" a lab tech began.

"He. He was found. He is a person," Tony corrected harshly.

The young man dipped his head. "Sorry. He was found miles away from any inhabitants. It was lucky that we did. The farmer was more than just a little freaked out by the dying, green giant on his land and reported something which S.H.I.E.L.D. immediately saw and... well, here we are."

"What happened?" Tony asked in what he hoped was not a broken voice.

"Hardcore overdose. Heavy amounts of heroin, plenty of alcohol, a couple of bottles of anxiety meds. He knew what he was doing."

Tony just stared at the Hulk before him and wondered why it had come to this.

"And the Hulk came out, presumably, tried to keep alive. Succeeded, but barely. And now..."

"And now we wait for it to subside," Fury said, pushing the tech aside. "Look, Stark, I know that this is hard for you."

"No, no, it's not hard. I deal with my friends and teammates trying to kill themselves and becoming stuck as a huge green monster every day. Not hard at all."

Fury waited impatiently for him to finish and continued despite Tony. "But we think that there might be something to you approaching him in this state. He should be more or less safe to go back to being Banner, physically, but he's not. We're not sure why. Notice how he has not fought against us."

Tony nodded. Yeah, okay. The Hulk liked him or something. So send him in as a peace offering to try to talk Banner back. Simple enough.

"Sure," he said, and despite the millions of ways he could die in the next few minutes, Tony kept his mind on the fact that there, in a sophisticated prison, was someone who needed help and well, it might as well be him.


	5. you start to ask, can't hear a word

Tony was the first to be allowed to see him. He had destroyed more than enough property out of threats and frustration to not be. Any of the lower ranked S.H.I.E.L.D. employees looked at him with a bit of awe and a lot of terror.

Bruce was lying perfectly straight, looking up at the ceiling blankly. His skin was pale, even against the terribly white sheets. He had hidden most of himself under the covers and brief images flashed through Tony's mind about what the rest of him might look like. His hair was thin and two prominent bald spots showed the whiteness of his scalp.

"Hey," Tony murmured, pulling up the chair to be right next to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Bruce turned his head and gave Tony one of those smiles, the ones that suggest that there's a great joke behind them, the ones that seem to be because of and not despite the terrible situation. "Feeling just swell."

Tony nodded. "Do you remember?"

He saw a muscle in Bruce's neck twitch and knew that it was the wrong question. Bruce considered, then just said, "Yes." He turned his head back.

Tony started to reconsider being the first one let in. But only briefly. He went down his list of Things To Say. A hundred thousand questions waited just behind his tongue, but now was really not the time and as indelicate as Tony usually was, he at least had some decency.

"I talked the Hulk down, you know," he chose after a loaded pause and rubbed his tongue against the sharp edge of his teeth in waiting for Bruce's face to change or his body to move from this stiffened posture.

"I heard," Bruce said quietly and he looked slightly softer. "Thank you, I guess."

Tony exhaled sharply. "Do you want to see the others?"

"Sure." He didn't really sound like he meant it.

"Did you want to see me?"

Bruce didn't reply but tightened his lips.

"I missed you, you know. Back in New York. We've all started living together, except for Thor who hasn't been on Earth for quite a while. It was nice and we're all getting close and, funnily enough, I actually trust these people. At least, as much as one could trust a spy, a sniper, and a steroid-fueled super soldier." Tony quirked his mouth at his own alliteration. "But it's been nice. And I've missed you because as cool as they are—and they are pretty unbelievably cool—none of them understand a word I say about my actual job. Which you do."

Tony paused his speech to see if Bruce was reacting. He had begun to stare at his hands, fingers slightly trembling, maybe from hunger, maybe from anxiety. He had turned his head towards Tony and was watching him. Their eyes met and instantly Tony dropped his.

"And I really regret letting you leave and not just—not just because of this, but because you were gone for months and I never heard from you and I liked our whole lab partner banter thing that we had going. Since everyone is living at my place I was wondering if you would want to come live there, too, and it would be really fun and I know that we all miss you and want to hang out with you."

"Are you trying to put me on suicide watch?" Bruce asked amusedly.

"No." Tony sighed. "Maybe a little bit."

"It's not really first on my list of priorities to put everyone else in mortal danger, nor to put myself in what will be essentially a well-hidden cage." Bruce's jaw clenched.

"Neither of those are true and you know that. You're just being stubborn."

"So are you."

"I know but at least I'm on the right side of things." Tony ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I don't need a decision right now. But trust me, I'll be fighting S.H.I.E.L.D. to get you out of here as soon as possible because I don't like a single thing that they do. Saving you is hardly a good enough mark on their record compared to the shit they've pulled and are pulling."

"Thank you."

"And there really is room at the Tower for you." Tony started to stand up.

"I know."

Tony took a few steps away. "I'm glad you're back," he said and he felt something heavy in his stomach and a prickle in his eyes so he walked out of the room as quickly as he could.

Outside, Steve was waiting. "How was he?" he asked, eyes wide.

"As good as you could expect, I guess," Tony said. He was breathing like he had just run a mile.

"Is he coming back to the Tower with us? Can I go see him?"

"Maybe. And yes, but maybe not right now. Excuse me, I need to make a call."

He strode right past everyone else trying to get his attention and left the building. Hot sun greeted him, much brighter than the darkened interior. He squinted at his phone as he dialed Pepper.

He had sent her one or two brief texts as he left but nothing informative. She would be worried and probably furious.

She picked up. "Tony, I swear to God if this call isn't to apologize and tell me you're coming home right now I will—"

"I'm in Guatemala."

Pepper sighed. "Why the fuck are you in Guatemala?"

"There was an emergency. Fury took me out here but I guess it's mostly my fault because I came willingly."

"What's the situation? Is it one of those things that I'm going to have to run PR for three months about? Because I don't like those situations."

"Bruce tried to kill himself."

There was a pause on the other end of the line, one that Tony knew would happen.

"Can I come? I'm going to come."

Tony smiled. "I don't think anyone here would dare say no."

There was the familiar rustle of someone holding a phone against their shoulder while starting to pack. Pepper did that a lot. "Are you okay? Is _he_ okay?"

"I'm fine and he's alive. That's as good as it gets."

"You invited him back to the Tower, right? You're getting him out from under S.H.I.E.L.D. supervision?"

"What do you think I've been doing here, exactly? Twiddling my thumbs?"

"Sorry, sorry, you know how it is. I have to make sure you go to the bathroom every few hours on a normal day."

Tony mumbled something about "not needing to" and Pepper laughed but only in a superficial way. "I'll be there soon," she said. "Don't let anything too drastic happen without me."

Tony put the phone in his pocket and went back inside. The rest of his team was in a side room which looked suspiciously like a sleazy employee's lounge, broken vending machine and all. He sat down in an empty faux leather chair and put his feet up on the table. The others sat with bowed heads and Natasha frowned just a little at his casual demeanor.

"How was he?" Clint asked.

"Alive." Tony frowned. "I don't know. I hope he'll be okay."

Clint nodded. "I do, too." They both looked out the dirty windows at the cloudy but bright white sky.

"I want to be the next to see him," Steve said. "I think..." He didn't finish his sentence but Tony had looked at the psych records from after he was defrosted.

"He'd like that," Natasha said, curling her legs up against her chest and leaning against Clint on their shared loveseat.

All four of them nodded slowly and avoided eye contact with each other. All four of them shouldered the blame.


End file.
